Anduin, recovering from the shock of their sudden appearance, nodded, the solemn understanding of their situation settling over him. He directed his gaze at the glinting silver fabric clutched tightly in James Potter's hand. "I see," he murmured.
"The Cloak is truly your only lifeline to the world, isn't it?" Then, a more personal query surfaced. "Where is Sirius? Do you have any news of him? I haven't heard anything, and I know he worries about you both immensely. Will he be back for the start of term?"
James's smile was fleeting, heavy with the burden of secrecy. "Pads visits us occasionally, yes. He is one of the very few people—Dumbledore being the other—who knows the precise location of our safe house, but the terms of our protection mean we can't risk reaching out to him,"
James explained, keeping his voice deliberately low. "He's been moving a lot, doing deep-cover work for the Order, which is exactly where he's most useful. I hope he makes it today, but we can't guarantee anything."
With a final, meaningful handshake, James moved on, heading toward his two other long-separated friends, Remus Lupin and the anxiously hovering Peter Pettigrew. Their reunion, while muted by the circumstances, carried an undercurrent of desperate relief.
Lily, meanwhile, continued to greet the steady stream of arriving Order members and McKinnon family friends. Many did not know the details of the Potters' sudden disappearance, but the genuine joy of seeing them safe offered a small, needed moment of hope amidst the darkness.
The ceremony began shortly after the arrival of Albus Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold. Their presence lent the event immense political and spiritual weight. After a quiet exchange of nods with the principal mourners, the two leaders took their positions, ready to preside over the formal rites.
Dumbledore, his voice amplified by a discreet charm so that it carried clearly and gently across the still graveyard, began the eulogy.
"Dear friends, we gather today not merely to mourn, but to bear witness," he intoned, his blue eyes shimmering with profound, focused sorrow. "We are here to bid farewell to three magnificent souls, three brilliant minds, three fiercely loyal hearts: Marlene McKinnon, and the inseparable brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett."
He paused, allowing the depth of the loss to settle. "They possessed the noblest qualities that the human spirit can offer: kindness when facing fear, unwavering loyalty to one another and to our cause, and courage that knew no bounds. Their deaths have left a deep, irreparable wound in the fabric of the Order and the magical world. But let me be perfectly clear: they did not die in vain.
He continued, "They were murdered for choosing to stand on the side of justice and peace, and their defiance, their very last breaths, have served to temper the resolve of every witch and wizard here today. Their sacrifice is not an ending; it is a fierce declaration that the darkness will not, and cannot, prevail. We will remember them forever, and we will keep their faith—the faith in a better, peaceful world—alive in our hearts."
Dumbledore's words, a powerful mixture of philosophical comfort and hardened purpose, broke the fragile composure of many present. Molly Weasley, who had managed to maintain her stoicism for the sake of her children and her newborn, finally succumbed.
Great, wrenching sobs wracked her body, and Arthur immediately placed a strong arm around her, supporting her weight as she openly wept for her fallen brothers.
Minister Bagnold followed, offering the Ministry's official condolences and, in a clear political maneuver designed to bolster morale, announced that all victims of the attack would be commemorated posthumously as Martyrs of the Wizarding War. This decree offered the families—and the entire movement—a formal recognition of their sacrifice.
Anduin watched, realizing the inherent power of the moment. They can turn their pain into power, he thought, observing the unified grief. This suffering becomes the architecture of their continued resistance.
During the ensuing moments of quiet reflection, Anduin approached Charles Weasley. The young wizard stood apart, his shoulders rigid, his entire focus seemingly fixed on the freshly turned earth. He looked less grief-stricken and more incandescently angry.
"Charles," Anduin began quietly, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "This is a profound loss. Your uncles were heroes."
Charles didn't turn, but the raw intensity of his gaze was palpable. He spoke first, his voice low, shaking with suppressed rage. "I know who it was, Anduin. It was Travers and his gang. They had been threatening us, threatening my aunt Marlene. I heard things. The pureblood fanaticism… they get what they deserve." The anger radiating off him was a nearly physical force.
"They will get what they deserve," Anduin agreed, his voice strangely calm, a striking contrast to the emotional turmoil around them. He frowned slightly. "But you need to regain control of yourself right now. That kind of rage is blinding and will make you careless."
"I want to calm down, but I can't," Charles retorted bitterly. "How am I supposed to just mourn? I want to avenge my aunt and my uncles. I want them to pay."
Anduin, who had spent a lifetime in a world where justice was a luxury and only strength offered protection, did not offer the usual platitudes of patience or forgiveness. Instead, he said something that greatly surprised Charles.
"Then I support your decision," Anduin stated calmly, his dark eyes meeting Charles's red ones. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It is right and proper when the established system has failed to protect what is yours."
Charles visibly stiffened, taken aback. He knew Anduin to be steady, risk-averse, and highly analytical—not a person who encouraged such extreme, dangerous ideas. "You... you support revenge?"
Anduin stepped closer, speaking like a field operative to a novice recruit. "It is absolutely right to avenge your family, Charles. But if you are going to avenge them, you must do so thoroughly and ensure your absolute safety." He leaned in further. "Do not mistake rage for strategy. Do not lose your life before you can extract your revenge. That would be a double failure."
Seeing that Anduin was offering serious, strategic counsel instead of moralistic dismissal, Charles swallowed hard and nodded resolutely. The raw emotion was still there, but now it was channeled, contained by the blueprint Anduin was sketching.
"Yes. Now is the time to gather resources, not to strike," Anduin concluded. "Don't expect to be successful overnight. We need to be patient. I will be back to discuss this with you again. Now, go spend time with your family. They need you to be present." Anduin offered a final, firm nod and turned away.
Anduin's cold, calculated support for Charles's extreme idea was not born of malice, but of his inherent realism. In his experience, unresolved conflicts festered; avoiding the source of problems only allowed them to metastasize and grow stronger.
The simplest, cleanest solution to any threat was the elimination of the source. He hadn't pursued this path actively before because he was too weak, but he knew that as a Muggle-born wizard, he would inevitably attract enemies like the Travers family. His existence was, to them, an abomination that had to be resolved.
It will take at least another year, Charles, Anduin thought, a sliver of ice in his mind. We need a foundation of power, resources, and anonymity. Be patient, and we will build the counter-strike.
With the somber ceremonies concluded, Anduin shifted his focus entirely to the impending new school year. The summer's intense physical training, combined with a steady diet and the natural growth spurt of his teenage years, had changed him physically.
He was now nearly 1.6 meters tall, his frame no longer boyish but distinctly muscular and defined. His old school uniform, once roomy, was now uncomfortably tight across the shoulders and chest.
His first necessary expedition was a trip to Diagon Alley to buy supplies. He could no longer rely on the generous, yet finite, resources of Hogwarts. It would be exploitative to continue taking large quantities of materials from their greenhouses and storerooms.
He spent hours restocking his arsenal. At Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, he ordered several sets of new, larger robes, ensuring they were subtly enchanted to resist minor stains and tears. He made a massive, discreet purchase of potion ingredients, focusing on rare and complex components he could not easily forage: Moonstone, powdered Bicorn horn, and vials of essence of Dittany.
He also bought new glass bottles and laboratory equipment, prioritizing quality and durability over cost. He replenished his personal stock of condiments and Muggle comfort items—spices, teas, and sweets that the magical world lacked.
The sheer volume of his purchases drew curious glances from the shopkeepers, but his quiet, efficient manner and ready stream of Galleons ensured swift service. The Diagon Alley trip was a necessary, grounding contrast to the violence and grief of the funeral—a reminder that life, and learning, continued despite the encroaching war.
In the final days before the start of term, Anduin made one last, necessary visit to The Burrow. The atmosphere had undergone a remarkable transformation. Molly's indomitable spirit, fueled by the arrival of Ginny, had begun to reassert itself. The house was noisy again—the chaos of seven boys had returned, though it was now tempered by a new, gentle reverence for their tiny sister.
Molly, looking healthier and radiating maternal strength, pulled Anduin into a tight, warm hug. "Thank you, truly, Anduin. You were the calmest thing in the house when everything else was falling apart. Come back for Christmas, promise me."
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "He is welcome anytime, my boy. You're family now. And your cooking, well, that's just a bonus."
Anduin smiled, feeling the profound warmth of their sincerity. The Weasleys were resilient; they had found their light in the darkest hour. It was time for him to return to his own path.
Early on September 1st, Anduin packed his shrunken trunk and ate a final, hearty breakfast with the Longbottom family. The bond forged over the summer was deep, built on shared danger and mutual respect.
He and Frank then made the journey to King's Cross Station. Frank, along with Alice, was on Auror patrol for the day, tasked with creating a robust Muggle-Repelling Charm around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and, more grimly, standing ready to erase the memories of any civilian who accidentally stumbled onto the magical convergence point.
Frank stopped just before the concealed barrier to say goodbye. "That's it for now. Happy new school year, Anduin. Seriously, though—we mean it. Even if you don't have anywhere else to go for Christmas this year, you are always welcome in our home. We consider you a part of the family."
Anduin nodded, acknowledging the profound kindness. "I will seriously consider it. Thank you, Frank. But please, be careful here. You are doing a dangerous job, and I hope you do not need to be reckless. Protect yourselves."
Frank smiled, a weary yet determined look in his eyes, and offered a final nod of farewell.
Anduin turned, walking alone toward the solid-looking brick wall between platforms 9 and 10. He couldn't help but feel a deep sense of melancholy as he saw the long-lost red train, the Hogwarts Express, billowing thick, magnificent clouds of white steam into the sky.
So much of the holiday's trauma, the raw grief, and the cold, calculated decisions about revenge still weighed heavily on his mind.
He walked straight at the wall, passing through the magically concealed barrier to emerge onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The platform was a glorious, chaotic sea of students, trunks, screeching owls, and tearful parents. It was a world entirely separate from the cold, bloodstained reality of the war.
As he walked along the platform, searching for an empty compartment, Anduin watched the wizards and witches who had come to send their children off. They were a diverse, complex community, blissfully unaware that the war had claimed three more of their best during the summer, leaving behind a legacy of sorrow and a promise of vengeance that he was now, silently, entangled with.
The train, rising with steam and ready to depart, felt less like a vehicle and more like a vessel carrying him toward a sanctuary—a place of learning and, perhaps, the place where he would finally acquire the power necessary to implement the cold calculus of protection he now fully intended to pursue.
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Merry Christmas to you all. Hope u all are Healthy and Happy 😊